


From Eden

by excuezme



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Angels AU, Collins and Farrier are literal angels on earth heart eyes emoji, FOR NOW OK, M/M, Supernatural Elements, World War II, almost sort of crack, also i will be using Ruby's name for Dawson bc i wanna keep mine secret :), and they talk in slang i don't make the rules, anyways i wrote this as a joke pretty much, author does not know the names of any other angels except michael and gabriel, i just love him :(, jesus is mentioned once, lots of homoeroticism. oh so much homoeroticism, unnecessary tags because that's just how i am, you will pry dawson from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24809269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excuezme/pseuds/excuezme
Summary: Two angels, enamoured by mankind's way of showing affection towards their significant others, find themselves in the throes of war. Shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Collins & Farrier (Dunkirk), Collins/Farrier (Dunkirk)
Kudos: 2





	From Eden

**Author's Note:**

> hello i wrote this when i was MIA and it was just an almost sort of joke. i never thought to publish it because the plot is loose and the writing is not, well, the best. but i just wanted to have fun, so here.

Supernatural flyboys fic, for shits and giggles

They hadn’t been to Earth for the better part of more than a century, the last time they were there the rich were being guillotined in France, and then in 1840 for a little earthly date. Because as lovely as the rest of the universe was, nothing could compare to the small, simple humanly pleasures. They had been a little taken aback with that, with what the humans would do for the ones they loved. Those small things that made a relationship special. they thought they ought to take a page from their book, and so went on many a celestial date with each other in different parts of the universe or heaven. They were beings of love, after all.

In 1940, they decided to go back there again, see how they were doing, only to find the world in the throes of war, explosions and bullets, blood and gore, a needless waste of life. They were quite taken aback by the sheer scale of the conflict, and were a little stunned at the atrocities humans were capable of. Those were the two sides of humanity. They knew, that all the chaos in the earthly world was not caused by people being fundamentally good or bad, but by them being fundamentally people. They were in the morally grey area of the scale, capable of selfless acts of kindness, as well as terrible, horrible deeds.

They had been told by God to not interfere too much with Earth, she was a little experiment of hers. They had seen her creation, and her growth. They studied it, it was her most ambitious project. And they loved it. They saw it grow from one man and woman to billions of men and women, all of varying colours and attitudes, all of which the almighty crafted with her own hands, sometimes spending aeons on one, sometimes just chucking in a vaguely human-shaped half-baked form when she wasn’t feeling very creative. But she loved them all nonetheless. The ones she didn’t work hard on, she compensated with making them awfully good. But still, she missed some, unintentionally, and those turned out to be the bad ones. On a particularly good day (or closest heavenly equivalent), she would carefully chisel away at the physical form, and make them the most lovely people. The two angels watched carefully as she mixed and matched and breathed life into them. Instead of fixing the really bad ones, she just let them be, to see how it’d play out.

They traveled around the world that year, finally landing at the heart of the conflict, in Europe. It didn’t take them long to figure which one was in the wrong. They went to England, to see how they were doing. Not very good, apparently, but they were coping. They found out that there was going to be an evacuation from France to England, and wanted to see how that’d go. in the beginning, they just watched. But they couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. No, they had to do something. But they were under strict orders from the Upstairs to not meddle with the conflict. But they couldn’t _not_. They couldn’t miracle the war over, but they could help, performing minor miracles, to aid for its end.

So they did. Flying was their favourite thing, and through a minor negligible miracle, became very real fighter pilots.

“ah, nice seeing you in a Uniform, Flying Officer Collins”

“you too, Squadron Leader Farrier” they both winked at each other, and settled into their new bodies and uniforms.

They were supposed to go over the channel, and scour the sea and the air for the enemy. They were briefed, and with their very human leader, Fortis section took off. It was just the three of them, since they had to save the planes for the next battle, the one for Britain.

They sailed through the air, the blue sky above them, the blue ocean below them.

“check fuel, Fortis 1 and 2” came the voice through the radio.

“70 Gallons”

“68 Gallons, Fortis leader.”

“stay down at 500 feet and leave fuel for 40 minute fighting time over Dunkirk.”

“Understood. Vector 1 2 8 Angels .5” he smirked at the “Angels”

“and keep an eye on the gauge, even when it gets lively. Save enough to get back”

After a few more minutes of mindless flying, it was getting boring. Nothing was happening.

“Dunkirk’s so far, why can’t they just load at Calais?” Collins said into the radio, just bored. Farrier rolled his eyes. He never did read the newspaper. That idiot.

“The enemy had something to say about it” Fortis leader explained.

“at down here we’re sittin’ ducks” and it was true. They _were_ sitting ducks.

“keep ‘em peeled, they’ll come out of the sun” Collins just rolled his eyes at this. This was getting boring, and the sun was getting in his eyes. He remembered the time the almighty made it. She was a bit pissed because a galaxy didn’t come out as expected. She just tossed the raging fireball in, and there it was. The missing piece. It wasn’t a mistake, just a happy accident. They both smiled at the memory, when

“Bandit, 11 ‘O clock”

“Break!” now the fun began. Or so they thought. It was fun, as it was thrilling, but handling a Spitfire is no piece of cake, not even for immortal celestial beings. Specially for immortal celestial beings with no (earthly) flying experience.

“he’s on me!”

“I’m on him”

After a lot of manoeuvring and grunting, and firing at nothing but air,

“I’m on my mark, Fortis 2, draw him left.” After a brief pause, “three, two, one, mark.”

Collins complied, and with all his might turned the plane left, which threw off the enemy just enough for him to be fatally shot, and go down in pieces, flames shooting up from the engine, shards of metal breaking free, before crashing into the water and breaking up completely.

“clear”

“is he down?”

“yeah, he’s down for the count” just then, there was the loud sound of metal clanging, the sound of bullets hitting the metal frame of a plane. Fortis 1 had been hit. He saw the plane zoom past him. _Bastard_ he thought. Though he had nothing to worry about, really, but he’d grown rather fond of the plane and startled at the sudden disturbance. _Fucking hell._

“Fortis leader one bandit down” he said into the radio. There was silence.

“Fortis leader? Do you read?” he said, for the first time, sounding a bit worried. Silence.

“Fortis 2, I have you on my port. I have no eyes on Fortis leader, over.”

“Understood, Fortis 1. Orbit for a look” they orbited the area for a minute, before Farrier spotted something.

“wreckage below”

“more of the 109?”

“no, it’s Fortis leader, over.”

“you think he got out?”

“I didn’t see a chute. Record his position, then set heading 1 2… 8, height 1000, over.”

“Vector 1 2 8 angels 1. understood.”

Farrier went to check his fuel, but found that the gauge was broken. _Shit._

“Fortis 2, what’s your fuel?”

“50 Gallons, over.”

“aright. Keep letting me know. My gauge took a bit of a knock at that”

“well shouldn’t you turn back?”

“no, no. I’m fairly confident it’s just the gauge.”

After a few more minutes of mindless but alert flying, and a broken fuel gauge,

“right, we’re about five minutes out so climb to… 2000. Over.”

“that’s more fuel”

“I know but I don’t wanna get jumped again. Let’s get to decent altitude and we’ll dive down on the bastards from above. Over.”

“Understood. Angels 2. Over” then, full throttle, nose up, they were at 2000 feet above the water.

“40 Gallons, Fortis 1”

“40 Gallons. Understood.”

Just then, Collins spotted something quite concerning,

“Heinkel, 11 ‘O clock. She’s lining up to drop her load on that minesweeper!”

“fighters?”

“yes, 109s off her starboard”

“I’m on the bomber”

after more lining up and firing at air, Farrier finally managed to get some hits on the bomber, Collins got the 109.

“got em! Got ‘em!” Collins said in almost childlike triumph.

The bomber had smoke coming out of her.

“wow he’s turning, you must’ve damaged her.”

“where’s the escort?!”

“uh, I got one o-“ he was cut off by sparks and the sharp sound of rounds piercing metal.

“fuck”

He saw smoke coming from the rear of his plane, near to the tail where he’d been hit.

“oh no, I’m going down”

“I’m on him, bail out”

He opened his canopy, and looked down at the ocean. It wasn’t too harsh.

“now, the swell looks good, I’m ditchin’.”

“he’s turning tail, I’m gonna get after him.”

“good luck! watch your fuel, you’re at 15 Gallons.”

“15 Gallons. Understood.” Then, after a pause “best of luck, Collins.” Silence.

“Collins? Do you read?” silence. He watched the plane slowly loose altitude, and finally hit the ocean, slowly being engulfed by the great blue. He always wondered why the almighty made it over 70% water. He knew better than to question it. Plus, it was more fun to speculate. For the moment, however, he watched his wingman go down, and he let himself feel some human emotion, just for the heck of it, because it was fun. He felt worry, concern, and _sadness_? For a moment he realised what it was like to be mortal, even though he had nothing to worry about, and neither did his friend. They did, however, feel the fear losing the love of your life, though.

Collins was rapidly losing altitude, and his (very human) heart pounded against his ribcage as the water came closer, the horizon looked wider, and the plane rattled wildly, and then finally. _Crash._ The impact felt milder than he’d expected, but the front of the fuselage had cracked and separated a few inches from the rest of the plane because of the impact of the propeller blades on water. It must’ve felt like hitting concrete. The plane flailed wildly in the water for a few seconds as the propellers stopped, and the drag from the far denser water slowed the momentum.

It stopped, and then, water started to fill the cockpit. Fast. He took off his helmet, to reveal his gorgeous blond locks, and then freed himself of his gear. He reached up to open his canopy, but it was jammed. For once, he felt himself panic, forgetting for a moment that he was incapable of dying. He stuck his hand out of the little crack that the canopy had opened, hoping someone would see him. Then, in a futile attempt took his flare gun and began banging on the canopy, hoping to break the hard plastic windows, which wouldn’t budge. The water was upto his chest now, not long before it completely filled the cockpit. Through gulps of seawater, he continued to bang on the canopy, but to no avail. Then, he heard additional banging, from outside. That did it. Then, a spark went off. He didn’t need to panic. He _couldn’t_ die. He floated back up, spitting out another mouthful of seawater, his rescuer looking as if he’d just seen a ghost. grabbing the long wooden stick, and gasped out an

“Afternoon”

He saw a boat approaching the crashed plane, he knew Collins would be fine. He knew Collins would be fine regardless. Boat or no boat. He forgot his worry, they’d meet soon. By soon, he meant tonight. Now, however, with his wingman gone, flying alone wasn’t quite so fun anymore. So he just decided to go on, as long as he could, just for the heck of it, maybe save a few more lives in the process, then see where it leads. After all, he was the only one who determined his future. For once he decided to let the universe take its course.

And so he glided, and glided, shooting at Nazis and gliding and gliding. Indifferent about the future, just cruising along, listening to the engine, talking to the air, thinking about the time he helped making it. He pushed the WEP, it was just whatever, aiming at another enemy plane, taking it down in a jiffy. He looked down, at the boats, at the men, a sinking boat, men jumping into the water, performing a minor miracle so they’d survive, gliding and cruising, and just doing whatever. He glanced at his rear view mirror, and saw a bright yellow plane at his tail. _Get off my ass for fucks sake_ he thought. He rather liked the human language. For this very purpose. It was so expressive.

He saw the bomber dropping her load on another boat, yet again performing a minor miracle so that the occupants survive.

In the boat, the boy called Peter, led him below deck, gave him a towel. He then asked in a shaky voice

“can you do anything about my friend, here?” looking at the tiny feeble boy laying on the ground, head propped up on a life jacket and a white bandage around his head.

“I’m sorry, son. I- I really dunno. But you’re right not movin’ him” he said, as if that would be some reassurance. “but you’ve done the best for him you can” he said. Peter just looked at him, and gave a shaky nod, before going back up on deck. Collins looked at the boy for a few moments, he looked so pure, so clean, unburdened with man’s sin, so completely innocent.

A commotion lured him outside. There was an intense dogfight going on above, a dogfight he would much rather be a part of, but he made his peace with it by cheering his mate on. Then he focused his attention down here. There was work to be done, people to be helped. Before he knew it, he was hauling other humans on board. Their faces were almost black, covered in… oil.

“it’s oil, oil, you’re getting’ into oil!” he warned the boat’s captain. He heeded, but was slow enough to get as many men on board as he could. Collins’ focus shifted from the sky to the ocean at the speed of light. He saw Farrier shooting down a bomber, he looked down here at the oil coated water. The bomber had smoke coming out of it. It was headed in their direction. _Oh no._

“Go.” he said, an urgency in his voice. “GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!” his panic and concern more apparent, as the bomber was getting closer, and they were right in its way. The captain revved the engine, and they were out of the oil just in the nick of time, as the plane crashed in the water, and the oil caught on fire, immediately. Right where they just were.

Back up there, the plane was slowly running out of fuel, and Farrier was none the wiser. He’d actually forgotten that he was running on reserve. The fact came to bite him in the ass when his engine started sputtering and gasping. Then his propeller stopped. _Oh bother._ He thought. He was now gliding fuel less in the sky, at _very_ low altitude. The men on the beach looked at the silent plane, gliding, the propeller unmoving. They’d probably guessed there was nothing he could do now, he was doomed. They probably had a new respect for the RAF now. Maybe even a little. As the silent guardian glided over them, protecting them from above. He was doomed for looking out for _them_

At least for them he was. He was a bloody angel on earth. _Literally_. But so long as there’s some good coming out of it. They were here to do good, after all.

Then, as hopeful as everything was seeming, the terrible, horrible siren of a Stuka tore through the air. There was a sudden heaviness in the atmosphere, there was a silent panic. Men on the ground crouched down, the ones in the boats did the same, with a look of sheer terror in their eyes. If you looked closely, some of them were shaking. As it came closer and closer, seemingly dooming them to another bombing raid, the sound of rounds being fired broke the intense scream of the siren. It was the lone Spitfire, and it had gotten the Stuka. The siren wailed, but it was faster, and it was abruptly stopped when it nose-dived into the water. The tension lifted, and the sound of cheers echoed on the beach, everyone sharing one single emotion: relief. They were cheering and waving at the single Spitfire that had saved them. Unfortunately he couldn’t save himself.

Actually, he could, by miracling the fuel tank full again, and fixing the fuel gauge when it was damaged, but he wanted to see where Destiny would lead him. Her, and Fate were pals of his. They’d sprung up when the world came into existence. They had a complicated relationship, they were cruel and cold-hearted at times and benevolent at others. He never did understand them, but thought that they were just doing what they had to do. they didn’t have much power over him either, they were creations of man. For once, he let them take the lead. He felt them smile at his sides as they carried the plane.

On the boat, it was a different story. They were getting ambushed by a 109. Collins spotted it from afar, as did Mr Dawson. It was headed right in their direction.

“that’s a fighter” Collins told him urgently. The atmosphere in the boat had suddenly tensed up.

“yes an ME 109, from the south” He said, coming outside. “Peter, you take the tiller. And listen for my instructions.” He said, as Peter took his place.

“point her South”

Peter complied. The fighter was getting closer and closer. The roar of the powerful engine getting louder and louder.

“full speed, Peter. keep coming round! Keep coming!”

Peter did as instructed.

“before he fires he’s got to drop his nose. I’ll give you the signal” Mr Dawson said, keeping his eyes on the plane, pointing at Peter.

“now?”

“no, no, wait! wait for him to commit to his line”

And after a few tense moments,

“NOW!”

Collins assumed it wasn’t a bad time for a miracle.

The plane zoomed past them, bullets hitting the water just beside them.

“schise!” the pilot exclaimed in frustration inside the plane as he zoomed past, having done no damage to the boat.

“he’s gone” Collins said

“yeah bigger fish to fry” Mr Dawson replied nonchalantly, going back into the navigation room.

Collins was a little surprised, pleasantly at that.

“how’d you know that stuff anyway?” he asked ghost of a smile on his lips.

“my son’s one of you lot. I knew he’d see us through.” He replied helping a shell-shocked soldier inside.

Collins looked at Peter. _he’s too young to be a fighter pilot_ he thought. But considering the desperateness of the situation, guessed that it wasn’t that ridiculous of a supposition.

“you’re RAF?” he asked

“no, not me. My Brother. He flew Hurricanes. Died third week into the war.”

 _Oh._ He wished he could do something, _anything_ to ease the pain the family must’ve been feeling, but bringing the dead back to life would get him in real hot water. So he did the next best thing.

Farrier was gliding in the air, silently, accepting this fate. There was really nothing he wanted to do about this now, the plot was compelling to him, he wanted to see where it went. It went down. His plane, that is. It was gliding gracefully, but still losing altitude steadily. He opened his canopy and just sat there.

Collins sailed in the boat, where Mr Dawson poured him a fresh cup of tea, and Farrier was sailing in the sky, alone, watching the dotted lines of soldiers getting shorter and shorter as they were all picked by civilian boats and ferried across the channel, back home. For a moment he considered landing near them, take the last boat back to Dover, and on a train that would take him back to base. He thought that that wouldn’t be too exciting, so he kept sailing, farther and farther away from the allies, deeper and deeper into enemy territory. The tide was receding, and the sand looked solid. He could use it as a landing strip. He closed the canopy, and prepared to land.

Collins finally reached Dorset, disembarking from the _Moonstone_. He saw the stretcher with the “body” of the teenager, but he knew that he would be fine. He was just unconscious. No major permanent brain injury. He just needed some rest, is all. That’s the thing about celestial beings, their power to influence reality through the sheer power of thought alone.

“Christ, how many of you got in there?” a Private exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. How they all got in there, Collins knew. Only he did.

“where the hell were you?” a tiny 4’1” looking highlander spat at him. The word “hell” giving him a strange tingle. He just looked down at him. _Trying to save your bitch ass, ya git. Crashing while saving the likes of you_. Now he understood why humans were capable of violence.

“they know where you were.” Mr Dawson said, patting his back. They shook hands, Collins grateful for _some_ appreciation. He was immediately reminded why he loved the humans so much. There was a faint glimmer of recognition in Mr Dawson’s eyes, this was the second time he’d seen it. It was sad both the times, he wondered why. He was one of _the_ most oblivious Angels around, and could not put together the pieces unless everything was made explicitly clear to him. They loved him nonetheless. Even some of his fallen friends, from the nether regions. They found it endearing.

The obvious answer was, that he had inhabited the body of an individual who looked uncannily similar to Peter’s brother who had died. But he would sooner travel to Alpha Centuri than realise it.

Farrier was slowly losing altitude and lowered his undercarriage just in time for him to make an absolutely gorgeous seamless landing. The plane went on for a few more yards before coming to a complete halt. He opened the canopy and got out, using his flare gun to light the Spitfire on fire. Then, at a distance he stood, watching the beautiful machine burning to the ground, and waiting for something to happen. Marvels of human engineering such as this never ceased to amaze him.

Soon enough, a group of German soldiers appeared from over the dunes. He just looked at the Spitfire with tears in his eyes, sad to see her go. without a word, they surrounded him and escorted him to their camp. He stayed there, for a while but found himself getting bored.

“sorry folks I have to go now, thanks for the company I guess” he said slapping his knee and getting up and walking right out. Within no time he was back home, at base where Collins was waiting for him.

“where on earth have you been?” he asked

“hanging out with the Nazis. Not very pleasant people, might I add. Let’s go, Angel.”

And so they went wherever they went to spend the night. There they stayed for the rest of the war, performing minor miracles, reviving mortally wounded soldiers within an inch of their life, the usual. There was a raging suspicion at base that those two were upto _something_ but that something was _not_ that they were miracle-performing immortal celestial beings. But they were getting the job done, so no one said much of it. They’d be having a smoke in one corner of the common room, chatting away about the good old days, Upstairs, if you catch my drift, and on another corner two of their mortal counterparts would be having a conversation along the lines of

“do you think they’re, you know…”

“do _you_?”

“maybe, I Don’t Know?”

“I think so.”

“are they though?”

“fuck if I know, ya dunce”

“:(“

“did you just say ‘colon parenthesis’ out loud? It’s 1943 Emojis aren’t even a thing yet, Bartholomew.”

“yeah sorry whatever. I think they are though”

“I’ll go on a limb and agree with you here”

“good for them then. Let’s get out of here, Sweet”

“what”

“what”

And so they stayed, ‘till the war got over, going on many a mission, becoming aces casually, but then got bored, and after faking their death in October of 1945, went back to heaven to tell their angel friends of their earthly adventures. The others listened intently, and asked many questions.

“yeah, and when I got rescued by the _Moonstone_ , the boy, Peter, looked as if he’d seen a ghost. I wondered why. And then, after that, twice, the Mr. Dawson guy looked at me with a familiar glint in his eyes, and I was like ‘what’s up, old man’ –“

“you actually said it out loud?”

“No, No, Gabe, I just thought that you dumb. Anyways, he looked at me like he knew me or something, I wanted to ask what was the matter but then I didn’t -”

“why though?”

“oh, give me a break Michael. I was a bit shaken, ok? And then we got ambushed by a 109, and -”

“what on earth is a ‘109’ ?”

“come on, I literally just told you. anyways, so it’s really tense, it’s headed right for us and this Mr. Dawson guy gives some absolutely stellar instructions and the plane misses us by like this much” he said opening his arms a tiny bit.

“woah” the others said.

“right ?! it astounds me what those creatures can do. anyway, so I ask him how he knows all this, and he says that he has a son who was in the RAF. So I look at Peter and I’m like _but you’re too young_ and I know it sounds stupid, but I asked him if he was in the Air Force like a dunce, and he told me that he had a brother who flew Hurricane planes who dies third week into the war. –“

“wait. What was the name of the boat’s captain again?”

“Mr Dawson”

“and he has a son called Peter?”

“ye”

“and Peter has a brother who died ?”

“precisely”

“oh mother. It’s Alexander Dawson !” Gabriel exclaimed

“oh, dear, it IS !” Michael agreed

“what? What do you mean?”

“dude, he’s mom’s absolute favourite creation ! we were there when she was making him, and I think she was having a particularly good day, because she absolutely made him not too far from one of us ! she was sad when she had to send him down there, she almost didn’t want to, but she figured she didn’t have much of a choice. But I guess she called him back.” Gabriel explained. Michael nodded in agreement.

“yeah, she’s got like, a whole special place for him. It’s really good, I must say.”

“I can’t help but feel a little jealous, to be honest”

“oh come on, Gabe, you’re literally an angel. One of the OG ones at that too. Cheer up, bud !”

“yeah I guess.”

“let’s go see this Alexander Dawson, though” so they went there, and saw him lying on the luscious green grass, looking at the galaxies, and the stars, the infinite expanse above, below and around him. He looked content, and his eyes were soft and had a twinkle in them. His soft hair flowed in the pure celestial wind, and he looked happy.

The four of them summoned their human forms, and greeted him.

“hey Alex, how’re you doing ?” Michael asked.

“not too bad, Mikey. What’s up?”

“nothing, these two just wanted to meet you. you see, these two had a little encounter with your earthly family, downstairs.”

“oh, really? How are they?” he asked shifting his gaze to the other two.

“oh, they’re coping.”

“hold on. You look an awful lot like me.”

“SO _THAT’S_ WHY !”

“what?”

“oh, just, when they saw me they looked rather shocked, is all. I guess I unintentionally happened to choose this form, haha”

“oh, well. I guess it did them good. Seeing another me down there.”

“perhaps it did, yes”

“I really miss them sometimes. I mean, I knew I wasn’t meant to be there forever, but I grew sort of attached to them. I hope they join me soon, like JC over there” he said pointing left.

“cheer up, bud ! they will, soon. Wanna hang out with us, till then ?”

“will I get to slide down Saturn’s ring?”

“sure !”

“then let’s go !” he said smiling big.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed reading this, i might fuck around and make a moodboard for this uwu
> 
> as i said, not my best work, almost crack, but it's still better than nothing while i work on my actual serious pre and post canon fic. expect that towards the end of the year :)


End file.
